


the twilight bark

by asmenuke



Category: Anastasia - Flaherty/Ahrens/McNally
Genre: F/M, accidental tour of my home away from home, fluffvember, must enjoy dogs to some extent to read
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-18
Updated: 2017-11-18
Packaged: 2019-02-04 02:09:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12760953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asmenuke/pseuds/asmenuke
Summary: Boy meets girl. Girl meets boy. Dog meets dog. And yet, the course of both true love and Glaswegian jogging paths never did run smooth, did they?A quick love story featuring dark mornings, coffee, sausage rolls, and of course: dogs.





	the twilight bark

Autumn in Glasgow was Gleb’s favorite time of year. First, there was an extra hour of daylight that St. Petersburg didn’t have, being about ten degrees latitude north of the Scottish city. Second, St. Petersburg didn’t have Greggs sausage rolls and coffee for two pounds—Glasgow did. Third, St. Petersburg didn’t have Hamish as a jogging partner.

Hamish, of course, was Gleb’s dog—the light of his dull life as an adjunct professor of Central and Eastern European Studies. He was a playful Border Collie, adopted from a rescue after his owners had retired from their farm and bought a vacation house in Majorca. He’d come with the painfully Scottish name attached to him.

Gleb, who was still trying to find where the Russian community in the Scottish city hung out, was happy to take the playful dog as he was in order to find company. A year into his Scottish residency, Gleb had finally found where the Russians enjoyed spending time ([Tchai Ovna in the West End](http://www.tchaiovna.com/), [Cossachok in the East End](http://www.cafecossachok.com/)), but by the time he had human company Hamish had thoroughly won his owner’s heart.

Luckily for Gleb, Hamish had also won over the rest of the staff of the University of Glasgow, so Hamish was allowed in class on Thursdays (provided that no one in class was allergic to dogs) and attended Friday tutorials. 

Unluckily for Gleb, Hamish was still a Border Collie, who required lots of walking on the rest of the days of the week to make up for the exercise he was given on Thursdays and Fridays. That meant Gleb got up at dawn (an increasingly hazy metric the closer Scotland crept towards winter), threw on sweatpants and an ancient sweatshirt from his own undergraduate institution, and set out to [Kelvingrove Park](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kelvingrove_Park). Hamish was usually waiting at the door by seven-thirty, leash tucked neatly in his mouth and golden eyes bright and eager.

“Alright, alright,” Gleb groaned on a cold, crisp Monday morning in November. The skies were clear, the sunrise illuminating only a few clouds. Hamish shifted on his feet, making a soft noise around the leash. Gleb sighed, throwing on the navy blue sweatshirt and groaning as he wiggled into his sneakers.

“We’re going,” he sighed, locking the door to the flat behind himself and Hamish. Hamish barked around the leash, waiting patiently for Gleb to take the leash from his mouth before attempting to throw himself down the stairs. Gleb sighed and followed, groaning as the cold from Great Western Road hit him like a sledgehammer. 

Glasgow was still lit by streetlights, but the regular crowd was out.

“Hiya, Gleb,” said Duncan Foster, walking his dog. He was a bartender at the Grosvenor Café and his dog, Tango, barked happily before sniffing at Hamish. It had taken Gleb two visits to the bar figure out that he knew him, and they were usually quite friendly.

“Good morning, Duncan,” Gleb chuckled, “Out early?”

“Wanted to finish my assignment before the engineering tutorial,” he replied, his light brown hair slick with sweat, “I needed to clear my head before I started the work.”

“Don’t let me stop you,” Gleb chuckled, “Have a good morning, then.”

He waved to Kristina across the street, walking her shaggy English sheepdog, and made the turn into the park where he began to jog. Lalit and his corgi waved as they passed Gleb on the way down, and Gleb cheerfully waved back. There was time enough to take the long way up to Park Circus, where the tobacco barons used to live, overlooking the old tenement apartments. Gleb sighed, coming to an abrupt stop as Hamish decided to do his business right off the path. 

“You’re lucky I like you, you weird dog,” Gleb muttered in Russian, watching the streetlights slowly flicker off, “At least you’re letting me have a nice view of the sunrise.”

“Do you always talk to your dog in Russian?”

Gleb turned, startled.

If he thought the sunrise illuminating the bell tower of the university was beautiful, it was nothing on the woman who stood in front of him. Her own dog sat primly on the edge of its leash. The absolute poise of its pose was hilarious, considering the dog in question was some sort of malamute or husky that more closely resembled a wolf than either of the two breeds. 

“Is that a direwolf on your leash?” He managed to stammer, “I’m sorry, that was terribly rude of me—“

“Usually it’s only the Scots who ask me that,” the woman replied, the sunlight behind her creating a golden halo out of her hair. “But no. I’ve no idea what Pooka is, to be honest.”

Pooka yawned. Hamish took that moment to finish and bark happily, straining at his leash to try to make a friend. His chocolate brown tail wagged happily. Pooka tilted her head in a manner akin to a cat wondering why you were doing such a stupid thing.

“Hamish, could you chill for five seconds?” Gleb muttered to him, reining him in on the leash.

“I’ve never heard of a Russian naming his dog _Hamish_ ,” the woman laughed, “When in Rome, huh?”

“Yeah, when in Rome,” Gleb agreed, feeling himself blush, “He came with the name, and I didn’t want to change it.”

“He’s cute,” she laughed, “Well, nice talking to you, but we’ve got to be going.”

The lovely woman began to jog off down the street, Pooka setting off as well with a loping, wolfish stride. Gleb choked on his words.

“I— I’m here every day!” He yelled after her.

All he received in response was a little wave.

“I can’t believe I got her _dog’s_ name, but not hers,” Gleb groused to Hamish. Hamish barked in response, wagging his tail. Gleb sighed, handed him a treat, and grimly went to clean up the mess he made.

* * *

The blonde woman was jogging through Gleb’s head for the rest of the day. He stumbled twice in his tutorial, losing track of his thoughts as he saw a blonde head drift by the window of University Gardens. He apologized to his students, who accepted his unusual absent-mindedness with a grace he felt he didn’t deserve.

“Don’t worry, Professor Vaganov,” Pavel Belinsky smiled, winking as he added, “God knows we’ve all had those days.”

“I’m your professor, Mr. Belinsky,” Gleb groaned, “I’m not supposed to have those days!”

Pavel, damn him, had simply laughed before disappearing out the old wooden door. Gleb tried not to groan. For a long minute, he rested his head on the cool wooden table, trying to breathe deeply. He couldn’t let this affect him.

“Remember, Gleb,” he whispered softly, “If you fail here, it’s back to being Stepan’s son in St. Petersburg. Don’t fail.”

The door creaked.

“Professor Vaganov?” Frances “but-call-me-Frankie” Wood, another of his students said hesitantly, “Are you okay?”

Gleb jerked upright, brushing a lock of dark hair out of his face.

“I’m fine, Miss Wood,” he said quietly, “Just tired.”

“I hope you’re not gettin’ sick, Professor,” Frankie said, her small mouth turned down in a frown as she tucked a lock of red hair behind her ear, “You’re going to have lots of essays to grade in a couple days!”

“Miss Wood,” Gleb laughed, “It’s nothing as serious as that.”

Frankie raised an eyebrow.

“All due respect, sir, you had your head down on the table when I walked in,” she quipped, reaching below the seat she had taken during her tutorial and coming up with a flowered pencil case.

“Have you ever… met someone, Miss Wood, but didn’t catch their name?” Gleb finally groaned.

Frankie’s eyes went so wide Gleb could see the gold flecks amidst the brown. Her mouth stretched into a broad grin.

“Professor Vaganov! You minx!” She laughed, “Dinnae give up hope, altho’ I think that you’ll be breakin’ the hearts of half the girls in CEES.”

Gleb laughed, finally relaxing as he began to pack up his own things. Frankie watched him with a patient smile, waiting until he’d filled his backpack before she slung hers over her shoulder. 

“It’d be unethical to go out with a student, Miss Wood,” he pointed out.

“Oh, but we can dream,” Frankie laughed, “Hey, can I email you my questions about the next essay?”

“You can come to my office hours and chat, if you’d like,” Gleb said seriously, “Or we could arrange an appointment. But I can see if I can help you over email as well.”

Frankie considered that for a long moment.

“If we have an appointment, will you bring your dog?” She asked with a sly grin.

“I’ll bring Hamish, yes,” Gleb chuckled, and Frankie shook his hand brusquely before making her way up the steps to Queen Margaret Union.

“It’s a deal!” She called, red hair blowing in the breeze before she slipped into the building. Gleb shook his head, but quietly admit to himself that he was certainly more focused than he had been during the tutorial.

* * *

Gleb took Hamish out at seven-thirty sharp on Tuesday and Wednesday, but the blonde woman and her direwolf of a dog didn’t reappear. He took Hamish to class on Thursday, where Hamish sat politely at his feet until someone took out a stick of beef jerky, and he was off like a shot up the aisle. Gleb sighed, watching as his dog sat down once more at the foot of the row, wagging his tail hopefully.

“Yes, you can give him a piece of jerky,” he said, forestalling the question, “And then send him back down here, alright? If he’s not with me, I’m afraid he’ll start howling along when we get to the Singing Revolution.”

There was a titter of laughter amongst the rows, and Gleb waited for Hamish to take a bite of the proffered jerky before he began to lecture again. 

Friday was another day of tutorials, but also happened to be the day that Frankie Wood wanted to discuss her essay. Gleb could see his breath as he made his way to [the Grosvenor Café](http://grosvenorwestend.co.uk/cafe/), climbing the outside stairs as he and Hamish clambered up to the second floor.

“Gleb!” Duncan called, watching Gleb tie Hamish’s leash to the iron balcony, “Aren’t you going to come inside?”

“Got Hamish with me,” he called back, the easy Scots dialect patterns coming far too easy for him at this point, “Can’t exactly bring him in, can I?”

“Ach, mate, just bring the poor wee dug in from the cold,” Duncan scoffed, “Settle down by the fire, and I’ll get you both set up with something.”

“Coffee first,” Gleb laughed, gratefully untying Hamish’s leash, “I’ve got a meeting with a student here about her essay. And I don’t think Hamish here has been ‘a wee dug’ for years.”

“Hamish will _always_ be a wee dug,” Duncan said, his Scottish accent at odds with his prim tone, “Now get settled. Who’s this student of yours?”

“Frankie Wood, about 170 centimeters, red hair a la Hermione Granger,” Gleb rattled off, reaching down to rub Hamish’s ears as he settled in a large leather armchair by the small electric fire.

“Aye, I’ll send her your way when she gets in,” Duncan said with a grin, giving Gleb’s shoulder a friendly squeeze. When he came to the UK, Gleb had expected the cool frigidity of the Londoners he encountered during his undergraduate career. He hadn’t expected the warmth of Glaswegians, who during the darker and colder months—in Gleb’s opinion—were a more alcoholic and cheerful twist on the idea of _hygge_. 

He was only waiting for a few minutes when a delighted call of, “Hamish!” Startled him out of his paperwork organization. When he looked up, Frankie was crossing the room and Hamish himself bounded out of his seat in order to greet his enthusiastic new friend, tail wagging like a feather duster. 

“Hi, Professor Vaganov,” Frankie chirped, Hamish enthusiastically trying to jump up on her, “I brought my essay questions to discuss.”

“Wonderful,” Gleb said calmly, “Hamish, calm down. Come here.”

Together, with a cup of regular coffee for Frankie and a cup of coffee with [a shot of Glayva](http://www.glayva.com/) for Gleb (courtesy of a winking Duncan), they began studiously working through Frankie’s questions for her essay. 

“So can I compare all _three_ Baltic states to Finland, since it’s a pretty clear divide, or is that too much information for one essay?” Frankie asked, tapping her pen against her lip. Gleb sighed softly.

“No, I mean, you could, but you’d have to be very careful, and I wouldn’t suggest it,” he said, “There is so much information on each state, so I’d suggest you choose just one Baltic and go from there. Dr. Cernauskaite is from Lithuania, if you’d like me to put you in touch?”

“I think I ought to do some research to make sure I want to pick Lithuania before I bug Dr. Cernauskaite,” Frankie sighed, draining the last of her coffee. “D’you mind if I order another one of these? It’s been a long day.”

“Of course, it’s on me,” Gleb said easily, “Don’t worry about it, Miss Wood.”

Frankie beamed gratefully, before her dark brown gaze fixed behind Gleb. She tilted her head.

“Dinnae look now,” she said slowly, “But you’ve got an admirer watching you.”

“One of my students?” Gleb asked cautiously.

“No, older, unless she’s a graduate student who can dress _really_ well,” Frankie shook her head, “Behind you.”

Gleb turned slowly, on the guise of signaling Duncan for a refill on Frankie’s coffee, and that’s when he saw her. 

Gleb gaped, his hand still in mid-air as he forgot entirely about signaling for the coffee.

“That’s her, innit? That’s the girl you’re gone over!” Frankie hissed, a bright smile pulling at her small mouth, “Go, get up and get some coffee yourself!”

“I don’t need my students, what, wing-manning for me?” Gleb groused, but got up. The blonde woman at the bar smiled slightly as he approached.

“One spiced wine for the lady here, and—Gleb! Need a refill on that coffee?” Duncan asked cheerfully.

“Gleb, hm?” The blonde smiled, “An interesting name. I didn’t know dogs were allowed here.”

“Strictly speaking, they’re not, but we make an exception for Hamish,” Duncan explained, sounding a bit embarrassed, “He reminds me of my mum’s Jonesie, back at home.”

“Hamish does seem like a good boy,” the blonde woman laughed, “A bit unusual name.”

“Speaking of names, I didn’t catch yours earlier?” Gleb tried.

“Anya,” the blonde woman said with a sly twist of her red lips, “My name is Anya.”

“It’s lovely to meet you, Anya,” Gleb breathed, “A good Russian name. Can I possibly buy you a drink?”

Anya’s eyes flickered over to where Frankie was cooing at Hamish.

“Seriously?” She snorted, “No.”

“That’s not—“ Gleb tried, but Anya had picked up her drink and was walking towards a table in the back. “Shit.”

“Better luck next time, mate,” Duncan said sympathetically, “I’ll try to explain to her next time she pops over for a drink.”

“Thanks,” Gleb said morosely, and made his way back to Frankie. “She thinks we’re on a date.”

Frankie’s face fell.

“Damn,” she muttered, but an idea seemed to be brewing in her head.

“Whatever you’re thinking, don’t,” Gleb warned, but Frankie shrugged.

“It was just a thought!” She protested.

“Back to the Baltics,” Gleb insisted, and while Frankie groaned, she opened her notebook.

* * *

Frankie had seemed restless for the remainder of their meeting, keeping her eyes fixed on the table that Anya was sitting at, but Gleb sighed and pushed his feelings on it aside as he walked Hamish home. It was unfortunate that beautiful Anya was clearly out of reach, but he knew that trying to run after her and tell her that Frances Wood was just a student was a painfully lame and rather creepy excuse.

“Looks like it’s just you and me again, buddy,” Gleb sighed, rubbing Hamish behind his ears as they settled back into their old familiar routine. Hamish’s tail drooped as though he felt guilty, somehow.

“Now, now,” Gleb soothed, “Not your fault Frankie is a good conversationalist and you wanted your ears scratched.”

Hamish whined. Gleb could only sigh, and vowed to stop off at Gregg’s for an extra sausage roll to feed Hamish the next morning.

Anya hadn’t appeared in Kelvingrove Park for quite some time by the time December rolled around. Gleb was grading essay upon essay and planned on helping a small group of his students, and while he couldn’t say with confidence that he had completely gotten over what could have been, well… Winter exams had a way of taking the sentimentality out of a person.

He’d planned on stopping at the Gregg’s on the way to university, but as he turned to leave Kelvingrove Park one damp December morning, he remembered the one in [Hillhead](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hillhead) was closed for renovations. Sighing deeply at the amount of time it would add to his commute—so long, long shower—he turned southwards towards Finnieston. 

“At least the Gregg’s on Argyle Street is a bit larger, eh, Hamish?” Gleb sighed, meandering through the quiet streets until they were in passing the Sandyford church and the Gannet, a restaurant Gleb only could dream of having enough money to eat at. He crouched down to tie Hamish’s leash to a nearby street sign, and smoothed a few raindrops off his dark head.

“Behave,” he said firmly, “No barking at passerby.”

Hamish wagged his tail. Gleb sighed, straightening up and turning to go inside, where he was put face to face with Anya and Pooka, tied to her own pole.

“Oh,” he managed, smoothing his own hair back, “Anya.”

“Gleb Vaganov,” Anya replied with a slight smile, “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Yes, well, the Gregg’s in Hillhead is closed,” Gleb managed, “Much to the dismay of just about all of my students.”

“Mmm, like that redheaded girl I met at the Grosvenor Café,” Anya chuckled, slipping through the door as Gleb opened it for her.

“What did Miss Wood do?” Gleb asked, horrified, “I’m so sorry, my students love to meddle, I—Is that how you found out my last name?”

“Oh yes,” Anya snorted, observing the selection of pastries in their cases, “She cornered me in the bathroom. Wanted to make sure I didn’t get the wrong idea about herself and _Professor Vaganov_.”

“I am _so sorry_ ,” Gleb breathed, “I’m sure you were just trying to have a nice time at the Grosvenor—“

“I was having coffee with my ex, actually,” Anya sighed, “He wanted to get back together. I had to explain why that was absolutely impossible, and when you came up, I had decided I needed something stronger than just coffee. What are you going to get?”

“A sausage roll and a mocha,” Gleb answered on autopilot, “Sorry, what about you and your ex?”

“Dmitry owns a mini schnauzer named Bartok that Pooka would like to eat alive, if possible, and if my dog isn’t happy, no one is happy,” Anya explained blithely, “That and he liked me a whole lot more than I liked him.”

“Ah,” Gleb said, beyond off-balance, “I see.”

He didn’t, but he felt that seeing wasn’t exactly the point in this example.

“Hiya, I’d like two sausage rolls, a bacon butty, an almond croissant, and two regular mochas,” Anya said, cutting off Gleb’s choked complaint, “Yes, I’m paying for your breakfast, Gleb Vaganov, it’s only polite.”

“What did I do to earn such a favor?” Gleb tried to tease, wondering what alternate universe he’d stumbled into while crossing the River Kelvin, and Anya smiled mysteriously.

“The bacon butty and the second sausage roll are for Pooka and Hamish,” she grinned, “I mean, look at them.”

Gleb turned to look. Pooka had curled herself around Hamish, the bulk of the giant, grey-tan wolf dog trying to shield the border collie from the rain as best she could.

“That’s adorable,” Gleb gaped.

“I’ll pay, get a photo of that!” Anya laughed, and met Gleb outside as he was taking several more shots of their dogs living Gleb’s dream.

“First, thank you for breakfast,” Gleb said, as Anya presented him with one of the mochas and a bag filled with two sausage rolls. He balanced the mocha in the crook of his arm as he ripped one of the rolls in half, obligingly handing it to Hamish, who was looking increasingly like all of his canine dreams were coming true.

“Second, can I have your number so I can send you these photos?” He asked, adding in a rush of boldness, “And maybe text you later if you’re interested in having tea?”

“Put me under Anya Romanova,” Anya instructed with a grin, handing her entire bacon sandwich off to Pooka, “And I’d like that. I’d like that a lot. Is the tea-shop dog friendly?”

“I think they might make an exception for that,” Gleb grinned back. 

* * *

It turned out that Tchai Ovna was not about to make an exception for Pooka, given that the Russian owner firmly believed Pooka was a Russian wolf that _would_ try to eat one of her chairs if given the chance.

Gleb shrugged and offered to get their teas to go.

“My flat’s just steps from here,” he shrugged, “And it’s a pet-friendly lease.”

“No wonder you made professor,” Anya teased, “Smart idea, with a dog like Hamish.”

“At least I could hide him a bit easier than I could potentially hide Pooka,” Gleb pointed out. 

“But why would you want to hide him?” Anya giggled. She let Gleb hold their teas in both hands and tucked her hand into the crook of his arm while they walked. Gleb felt his cheeks heat even as they walked out into the slush that was falling from the sky in the late, dark afternoon.

“I could never hide Hamish, not after what this dog has done for me,” Gleb laughed, thinking, _he made me run into you._

“And what’s he done for you lately?” Anya asked, reaching up to pull Gleb’s hood over his head. Gleb grinned, leaning down. Anya’s eyes fluttered shut beneath her hood. 

He pressed a quick kiss to her cheek, pulling back just in time to make his clever remark.

“If not for jogging with him, how else do you think I keep so fit on a diet of sausage rolls?” He grinned.

Anya laughed, and as they made their way through the darkening streets of a damp Scottish evening, Gleb vowed to make sure Hamish got all the sausage rolls he deserved.

His dog? Had earned them.

**Author's Note:**

> Every place you see mentioned in this story is a real place in Glasgow, Scotland. I've clearly done a bit of fudging with their dog policies--as far as I know, Glasgow Uni only allows you to have a dog in class if it's a service dog. However, I've had several professors bring their dogs to class on Fridays, so I know that though it might be against the rules, if your dog is cute enough rules mean nothing.
> 
> The Grosvenor Café is pronounced "Grovenor," interestingly enough, and Gleb's neighborhood, Hillhead, is unsurprisingly on the top of a hill. I lived in Finnieston. My calves got a work out every day I had to walk up, but unlike Gleb, it wasn't enough to keep me fit with all the sausage rolls I was eating. Glasgow has a pretty large population of Eastern Europeans, so while I didn't feel like actually doing research on St. Petersburg to write a fluff piece, I did know all about my adopted city and figured I'd be lazy and just set it there.
> 
> If you're going to Glasgow, feel free to use this fic as a tour guide.


End file.
